


Directional Influence

by sullenSniper



Category: Super Smash Brothers
Genre: Gen, Other, Some OOCness, questionable use of words, slow-moving plot, wonky characterization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:04:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullenSniper/pseuds/sullenSniper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his last trip to the Distant Planet, Olimar's life has gone on a one-way trip downhill. When he gets invited to the latest Smash Tournament, he immediately accepts. He reunites with old friends (if he can call them that) and meets new ones as well. But all around him, the wheels of fate are turning...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Veterans and Newcomers

**Author's Note:**

> For those reading, hello there! This is Sullen, the writer of Snipes 'n' Shells, and the author of this story. This stemmed from some ideas I had while playing the 3DS version and anxiously waiting for the Wii-U; as such, many elements will come from the former, though more of the latter will appear as time goes on. Anyways, I hope you'll enjoy this starter, because we're in for a wild (and very, very slow) ride!

A lot has changed since that day. This old place, once humble, has grown immensely, with more stores and intergalactic flight services to accommodate the rising tourist and commuter population. Demand for local products, especially Pikpik carrots, have skyrocketed, leading to demand for more workers. The economy in the past year alone has thrived; finding a job is no longer such a chore.

Olimar is returning from his latest errand, a trip to Koppai to drop off some carrots. Even more than the improving economic state is the surprise by how seamlessly he can communicate with the locals—few cultural and lingual barriers exist between them. Which is a boon for Hocotatian society, as Koppai has become one of its biggest customers. Who would've thought they were in such dire straits just a couple of years ago?

But now's not the time to think about Koppai. It's been a long week, flying to and from Koppai, and after all that, the last thing he needs to think about is work. He turns his attention to the family photo hanging on the wall. “Honey, I'm home,” he announces with a chuckle. The laughter dies down as he crashes back into reality. Another lonely evening.

A year after his last disastrous trip to PNF-404, he left on another lengthy task, and came back to an empty home, with the dreadful news written on a note left on the table. His wife, normally patient and tolerant, got sick of waiting and left, bringing their two kids with her. A day hasn't passed by without thinking about them.

After finishing dinner, Olimar showers, changes into some comfortable nightclothes, and settles down to sift through his mail. Bills, junk, spam. Nothing worth his immediate concern. “Hmm?”

One letter stands out from the mess of meaningless envelopes. There's no return address, no stamp, just his name and a wax stamped seal. The seal marking is a circle with an off-center cross dividing it into four unequal segments. He's seen this seal once before, a seemingly long time ago. Trembling with anticipation, he opens it.

 

_To Capt. Olimar:_

_HI THERE!!_

_You have been invited to the fourth Super Smash Bros. Tournament. As you are aware by now, this is a grand competition which grants many rewards for success in combat. Because you were a past combatant, you are granted priority access in our roster, should you choose to participate._

_After receiving complaints from some of our participants, we have made necessary changes under the pretense of making this our best event thus far. By signing this letter, you agree to these changes and will be expected to participate._

_We hope you would consider entering._

_HaVE a NiCe DAY! :DDDD_

_~ Master Hand AND CRAZY HAND_

 

The elegant calligraphy and colorful scrawl is unmistakable. The puppet master and his right, er, left-hand man are at it again. Olimar is far from financial ruin, but the promise of great wealth tempts him. Even more than that, it provides him with a release from the emptiness and stress of mundane life. Swiping a nearby pen, he hastily signs his name on the letter.

Very early the next morning, Olimar is awakened by an ear-piercing noise, indescribable to the human—or Hocotatian—mind. At the foot of his bed is a shadowy form, tall and skeletal. He tries to get away from it, but its long arms reach out and grab him by the ankle, pulling him into its void.

He blinks, his vision and consciousness clearing up, then slowly gets himself up off the ground. Before him is a tall skyscraper, with the emblematic orb adorned on its front doors. The Smash Tower. The doors open, and he strides inside.

Though plain-looking on the outside, the Tower's interior changes with each event. Last time, it was classically detailed and almost gaudy. This time, it is simple, yet modern in design. Seeing the steel-lined walls reminds him of the inside of his own ship, the SS Dolphin. It takes him a moment to realize he is absolutely lost.

“Hey, are you Oliver?” Olimar turns around and looks up. A young man in boxing gear is standing beside him. He's definitely taller than him, but not by much.

“It's Olimar, actually. But yes, that's me.” How he can communicate flawlessly with someone from another world has never been explained well; he believes the Tower holds an inherent ability to instantly translate speech into a universal language of sorts. “You're Li'l Mac, aren't you? The Assist Trophy?” He doesn't remember quite everything about the last tournament, especially the part-time helpers summoned into battle.

“The one and only. But I got a promotion. I'll be fighting alongside everyone as an actual Smasher! Ain't that neat?”

He pauses for a moment before giving a smirk. “I'm sure you'll be a great fighter.”

Mac chuckles sheepishly. “Thanks. That means a lot, comin' from you.” He glances left and right. “Hey, you think you can show me around? I'm kinda lost.”

“I doubt I can help much. The place has changed a lot since I was here last.” He stares at the long hallway. “Well, better start somewhere.”

The two of them travel down the halls, chatting about all sorts of things: home, life, and of course, fighting. “Me and the others were watching you guys fight last year. Been looking up the tier lists, too. I still can't get over how awesome you are!”

Olimar is flustered to hear mention of the tier lists. “Me? Awesome? Oh, no, that's just exaggeration. I'm not all that great.”

“Are you kidding me? People are saying you're like an impenetrable fortress with Pokeman sentries and guards. You can probably top Meta Knight if you wanted to!”

“Trust me, no one can top Meta Knight.” Where does he even hear this stuff? “What's with all the admiration, anyway?”

Li'l Mac shoots a grin. “Cuz you're like me: small, but powerful. Us underdogs gotta stick together, right?”

Before Ollie can reply, they hear loud noises coming from a pair of doors nearby. A sign above them reads 'CAFETERIA'. “Let's see what the fuss is about.” Knowing from experience, he can only think of one suspect. Pushing the door open, he raises his voice, tone stern, “Hey, you better not be making a mess... Kirby?”

The culprit stops in their tracks. It is small and round like Kirby, but that's where the similarities end. It's like if Kirby turned yellow, then sprouted arms and legs and a nose. The oddity looks at Olimar with curiosity, then smiles widely and charges towards him, losing its limbs and facial features in the process.

It chases the both of them across the labyrinthine hallways. Mac spots a door and drags Olimar inside, where they hide from the rampaging yellow thing. Once it's gone for sure, he sighs in relief. “Man, what was that thing?”

“I don't know,” Ollie pants. “But that is definitely _not_ Kirby.”

Catching their breath, they stop to examine their surroundings. Gym mats and exercise equipment are laid across the floor, and on the end, a few familiar faces are stretching in sync with an ivory-skinned woman in blue. “Strange. When did they hire a fitness trainer?”

The woman stops posing and turns to face them. “Oh, good day,” she says with a subtle accent. “Are you here for the class?”

Olimar shakes his head. “Me? Oh, nonono. We were just—”

“Got room for one more?” Li'l Mac interrupts with enthusiasm. The Hocotatian doesn't bother to stop him as he takes off his gloves and follows the trainer's lead.

At the same time, a two-dimensional silhouette in the shape of a cartoonish man steps off its mat and lets him by. It then turns its attention to Olimar, pointing at itself with a beep. Olimar says, “Hold on, you heard our conversation?” The 2D man nods and beeps. “Then you know what we're talking about, right?” It nods again and summons from thin air a small, round shape opening and closing its mouth. “Yes, exactly like that.” It makes more beeps and movements; encrypting its gestures takes little effort. “So his name is 'Pac-Man', and he's an old friend of yours?” Another nod. “Great! Do you think you can stop him?” It rubs its tummy and gives a low boop. “Oh, I see. Well, thank you very much.”

The two of them out and they begin their search. Through their cooperation, they manage to clear the entire bottom floor, with no luck. Then, just as they are about to turn and head back, they hear a distant sound.

_WAKA-WAKA-WAKA-WAKA-WAKA-WAKA-WAKA-WAKA..._

The sound grows in volume as a far-off yellow dot edges closer, its mouth getting bigger and bigger as it rushes towards them. Just as it gets within range of Olimar, the flat man steps in front of him and summons a frying pan to toss strips of bacon in its direction. The dot stops and turns back to its two-legged self to gulp up the meat strips. A huge smile on its face, Pac-Man runs over to embrace the flat man, and they both create a joyous ruckus. The captain tries in vain to block the noise out as he walks away.

Traveling up to the second floor, he takes a moment to look at his hand. When he regained consciousness, he was already wearing his space suit and blown up from his minuscule size to a more practical height. It was a process he went through the last time he competed, but still not something he is used to. Time and time again, he has tried to come up with an explanation for such incidences. But in the end, the only conclusion is that whatever is powering the Smash Tournaments simply defies physics.

The second floor is normally where the dormitories are located, and this time is no exception. The layout, thankfully, has not changed much, with each room evenly spaced from each other. However, Olimar has noticed that there are two names labeled beside each door, a diversion from last time. After a great deal of walking, he finally finds his name, just above someone called 'Alph'.

He barges into the room, eyes wide like saucers. Scanning the room, he finds two beds, a nightstand, and a blue-haired Koppaite. Upon noticing Olimar, the Koppaite chirps in excitement, “Oh, sir, it's you! I didn't expect to see you here. Isn't this great? We're both gonna be in the biggest event of a lifetime!”

Blinking, Olimar replies, “I, er, wasn't expecting you. I got the invitation, but it never said anything about newcomers.” Then again, he used to be one himself. “How did you get invited?”

“Through the mail, silly! My invitation said I was recommended by you. Now here I am!”

He takes off his helmet and scratches his bald head. “I did?” He does vaguely recall writing Alph's name on one or two documents, but those weren't related to the Smash Tournament... were they? “I mean, have you met any of the others?”

“I met Li'l Mac earlier. I told him I was looking for you, and he showed me around. Sorta. He doesn't have the best sense of direction. I also met Captain Falcon and Samus. The Captain doesn't look like an astronaut, though.” He frowns. “Everyone here's so tall and different and strange; it's making me nervous.”

Olimar cracks a wry smile. “It's scary at first, but you get used to it. Just be yourself, and you'll make friends.” He hears a knock on the door. “Who is it?”

The voice on the other side of the door answers, “It's me, Li'l Mac. Wanna watch the first match with me?”

_A match already?_ He glances at Alph before speaking. “Um, sure. Mind if I bring along a friend?”

 

**-Round One Post-Script-**

Pac-Man and Mr. Game-and-Watch stroll happily, excited about the upcoming match. They chat about “the good ol' days”, asking what the other has been up to since the last time they met. But the longer they walk, the more unaware they are of their surroundings, until they hit a dead end. Mr. GW looks around, slowly coming to terms with the fact that they are hopelessly lost.

Pac-Man suggests going one way. GW suggests another. They squabble over which way to go, then make a compromise. They decide to part ways, promising to meet up later.

Mr. Game-and-Watch walks down the pathway he chose, still getting used to the Tower's new layout. The number of rooms have expanded greatly, providing more options for the increasingly diverse cast, but comes at the price of expanding the rest of the building as well. His chances of arriving on time are very, very slim.

As he travels down one particular hallway, the colors start to change. The walls, normally a sleek silvery white, suddenly transition into a burst of reds and oranges. GW, intrigued by the fiery hues, reaches over to touch them. A stinging, burning sensation strikes his two-dimensional hand, forcing it to recoil in pain. Whatever this paint is made of, it's unfit for any Smasher to make contact with.

Further down, he spots a bluish figure wielding a paintbrush. Upon closer examination, it looks like... ' **Mario?'** GW could only catch a glimpse before the figure disappears, making him question himself.

 


	2. Settle It In Smash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late night on Christmas Eve where I am, so as a holiday gift, I'm releasing a new chapter!

Olimar, Alph, and Li'l Mac—along with the gym trainer, Pac Man, and their paper-thin mutual friend, Mr. Game-and-Watch, meet up in the auditorium, where all the other participants have gathered to witness the battle at hand. On the silver screen is an image of a bright-colored island setting, and the two combatants duking it out.

One of the combatants, a boy in blue armor, is taking the offensive course, combining long-range and short-range attacks to trap his opponent in a corner. The other, a mundane-looking boy with a perpetual smile, is sticking to more evasive strategies. The blue-armored child, labeled onscreen as 'Mega Man', appears to have a wide array of weapons and moves, from fiery claws to attachable bombs; many of his attacks are executed from his right arm, which doubles as a blaster gun. The mundane boy, labeled as simply 'Villager', uses regular, everyday items, such as shovels and watering cans. The latter is clearly outmatched.

As the mundane boy is edged closer to the water, the blue bomber's blaster arm starts glowing. Oddly, the mundane is not doing anything to interrupt him. The blaster fires a large shot of plasma, which flies straight at the boy. Then, just as all seems lost, the boy grabs the plasma shot and puts it into his pocket.

This shocking twist has raised Olimar's awareness, believing perhaps that the Villager has greater potential than first impressions make of him. The rest of the match, he watches his moves closely, analyzing and speculating. The two, upon closer examination, use similar strategies, despite their differing movesets. Seize control of the territory, then trick the enemy into dropping their guard before hitting them where it hurts. Their unique approaches to a common nuance is what makes them especially brow-raising.

After a whole minute of the fighters playing a game of keep-away with each other, Mega Man stops to charge his blaster. The resulting shot isn't quite as large, but the Villager, his damage count already in the red, jumps out of the way. He strikes back with his shovel, digging a hole right underneath Mega's feet. With the armored boy trapped, the Villager brings his hands to his pockets and whips out the plasma shot from earlier, sending him flying out of the scene. A second later, a shining, floating platform brings Mega Man back onto the field, but by then, it's a second too late, as the announcer calls “Time!”

Long after the match has ended, Olimar is still thinking about it—not that he has much else to think about. With Mega Man and the Villager proving to be potential threats, and Pac-Man proving to be, well, a bit nerve-wracking, he cannot help but wonder what else the newcomers are capable of.

“Captain, you've been awfully quiet,” Alph says. “Got something on your mind?”

“Yeah, the newcomers,” he mutters. “I wonder if we stand a chance against them.”

“Aw, don't worry about that. If you're still freaking out over that Villager kid, let's ask him to be our friend.”

“We're not here to make friends. We're here to fight and fend for ourselves and win.”

Alph stops smiling and averts his gaze. “I thought this was supposed to be fun.” He heads over to the door. “If you need me, I'll be down in the game room.”

Olimar sits on the foot of the sleep pod, wondering why he feels so reluctant to leave. He accepted the letter and allowed himself to be taken to this strange place. But with so many unfamiliar faces and even fewer friends (Snake and the Ice Climbers were the only people he felt were worth interacting with, for whatever reason), he feels alone. Well, there's always Alph. Young and innocent and curious, he is more open to new experiences. Meanwhile, Olimar himself has lost that adventurous spirit over the years, after losing everything else. What else does he have to lose?

Not willing to spare another moment moping, he steps out and tries to look for the game room. _Damn, lost again._ He turns and starts down the last hall when he spots two figures cleaning the floors. As he gets closer, he recognizes them almost instantly. The smaller one, Villager, stops sweeping. “Hi, pal! Are you lost?”

The captain blurts out, “I, um, no. I mean, yes. I mean, maybe a little.” He glances at the second figure—Mega Man. “You two are friends?”

The boy in blue chuckles. “Of course! I didn't expect to make friends, but everyone here's really nice.”

_Not quite everyone_ , Olimar wants to say, adding a few notable examples.

“We met up after the last fight, and hit it off instantly.” Holding up his broom, he scratches his helmeted head. “We saw a big mess, and, well, here we are.”

A roach crawls by, which the Villager crushes and sweeps away. “If you wanna help, we have an extra broom, pal.”

“No thanks. I just need help finding someone. You know where the game room is?”

Both of them point two different ways. “Down this hall, and to the left,” they say, alternating in sync with their assigned directions.

Sure enough, the game room is right where they said it is—more precisely, at the very end. The room is simple but colorful, with a plethora of screens and devices of all sizes. The designs are different from what he's familiar with (the purple box reminds him of a pyramid-shaped machine his son owned), but Olimar can definitely tell their function. The room appears to separate their game consoles by date of origin, with bulky arcade machines in one corner and the purple box and white rectangles in another. Towards the back is a small lounge area, with small, hand-held devices littering the coffee table. For the kid or kid-at-heart, this room is equivalent to heaven, and it's absolutely packed at the moment.

Olimar spots Alph playing with one of the white boxes—called a “Wii” by the Hands of the estate—and he waves back, waving a small, white remote. “Ollie, you're here! Did you come to play?”

“I really shouldn't,” he stammers. “I'm not too great with games.” At least, not this particular console. The last time he played with this thing, he lost his grip and the controller wound up dug deep into the recesses of the TV. And no, that incident had nothing to do with his loss against Dedede; why would he lose his temper over a silly game?

“You sure 'bout that?” Olimar doesn't get a moment to react, as he's pushed aside by a giant blue penguin. Speak of the devil—er, Dededevil? The penguin picks up a spare controller. “I'd like to see your face when I smash you off-course again!”

Alph furrows his brows. “Hey, I'm the one playing here. Challenge me instead!”

“Stay outta this, runt. This is between me an' the spaceman.” He shoves Alph to the side, obviously to push Olimar's buttons. “Let's settle this in Smash!”

Olimar glares at Dedede, then shifts his eyes on the shelf carrying the spare controllers. “I accept your match.” He grabs a black controller, normally meant for the purple cube, and thrusts it. “But we're playing by my rules.”

With both controllers plugged in, they boot up the game and start a match. Olimar isn't quite sure why there are games based on current and past Smash tournaments, but they're believed to provide extra insight into the fighting styles of the various combatants. But whatever their original intention, most people use them to settle old grudges or flare up new ones. Going by the Captain's rules, they choose to do something a little different: playing as each other.

Their characters appear on the “Battlefield” stage, and the fight begins. Right away, it's obvious that they have no idea how they work. They spend a good minute mashing buttons, getting used to their avatars' patterns. Once they learn a few basic moves, they proceed to go all out. Dedede is a rather aggressive sort, but is surprisingly competent in the air, and his grabbing potential is killer. Fortunately, his weakness is visible once he leaves the center stage, and Olimar uses his few projectiles—cuddly Waddle Dees and spiny Gordos—to knock him away before using a series of chain grabs to gain the upper hand. Driven purely by their determination, the two are equally matched, knocking each other down to their last stock.

Eventually, the in-game clock runs out, and they are forced into a Sudden Death match. They hesitate—a single hit can make or break their chances—but rush onward. After avoiding each other's moves, they move in for the kill. Everything ends in a flash, as the announcer shouts, “Game!”

Neither of them know what to expect. But by then, they don't seem to care. They shake hands and congratulate each other for a good match. Then the game's announcer calls out the winner's name: “King Dedede!” Momentarily dazed by the results, Olimar and Dedede stare at each other, then laugh.

As Olimar exits the game room, Alph has been praising him non-stop, to the point where he has to be told to stop. “As much as I appreciate it, it's not really that big a deal.”

“But Captai—”

“Just. DON'T.”

Alph bites his lip and bows his head. The captain takes a glance at the young alien boy's face and turns away. Trying to put his thoughts into words, he opens his mouth to speak when the Koppaite yells, “Captain, look out,” and pushes him to the side.

A cobalt blue blur zips by before skidding to a stop. The blur—now a hedgehog-like creature—skims its surroundings, then zips in a different direction. The moment is brief, but upon closer observation, the captain notices its pointed ears shifting about—possibly a warning.

Sure enough, the impending danger arrives. A cluster of seven sinister figures riding on round, clown-faced hovercrafts, blaze over the hedgehog's path, splitting up at the fork. Olimar and Alph separate and pursue them. They soon reunite, along with the figures, which trap their target in a corner. The figures resemble turtles with spiked shells, but colorful and varied in appearance. The one in the lead, most notably, has a large head of blue hair. The leader, wielding a sparkling rod, waves it and summons a spark of magic straight at the hedgehog.

At the last second, the hedgehog curls up into a ball and leaps, avoiding the blast. It then unleashes a spinning fury upon his foes, striking from above. With its supersonic speed, they never stood a chance. The seven pursuers lying unconscious on the floor, the hedgehog relaxes its stance. “Hey, buddy,” it says with a grin; its voice visibly male. “Sorry I stole all the action. I'll let you have first hit next time.”

He offers his fist, which Olimar bumps with his own, rather awkwardly. “Don't worry about it, Sonic. Who were those hooligans, anyway?”

“Dunno. But they look an awful lot like that Bowser creep.”

He hasn't a chance to speak further on the subject when an announcement blares out. “Will Sonic please proceed to the backstage? The match will begin shortly. Thank you.”

“Huh. Go take care of them for me, will ya? Gotta blast!” He zooms off, leaving the two space cadets alone.

As soon as the blue hedgehog is gone, the hooligans finally regain their senses. The lead hooligan scratches his hairy head. “Hey, where'd that blue thing go?” He glances at Olimar, then jabs the rod in his direction. “You! Short one! Get out of our way, or else.”

Olimar raises his fists, but Alph steps in to interfere. “Hold it! We'll do what you want! Just drop your weapons.” The leader and his accomplices comply, as does the Captain. “Good. We can start talking like fellows now. Let's start with—”

“We don't have time for introductions,” says the azure leader. “Get to the point, or we will show no mercy.”

“Let me handle this,” the Captain mutters as he steps forward. “You there. Do you happen to know anyone by the name of Bowser?”

“Bowser, King of Koopas. Yes, he is our leader. We carry out 'special orders', if you may. But he's preoccupied at the moment, so we're carrying out our own mission.”

“Is chasing innocent creatures part of your 'mission'?” Alph butts in.

“He was in our way,” answers one of the henchmen, sporting a pink polka dot bow. “We were looking for someone else when we bumped into him.”

His interest piqued, Olimar continues. “Who are you looking for?”

The brown-and-white minion is about to open his mouth when another, wearing pink shades, covers it. “That's none of yer beeswax, shortie!”

Olimar speaks on, unfazed. “Surely you can't give us a name, at least? Perhaps we can help apprehend him.”

The leader shoots a glare. “You'll know when you see him. And when you do, tell him the Koopalings have arrived.” With no apparent desire for further conflict, he and the others make their exit.

**Round Two Post-Script**

On the rooftops of the Smash Tower, a crystal-blue figure, bearing a strong resemblance to a certain mustached plumber, squeezes himself out of an air vent. Finally free from all pursuers, he transforms into his true self: a small, green turtle-like creature with a spiked shell and red-orange hair in a topknot.

He pulls off the bandanna covering his maw and sighs in relief. “So this is the Smash Tournament everyone's talking about,” he muses while observing the red-and-navy-blue cosmic horizons. The skies are clear enough that he can count every star, if he could. Yet somehow, it all feels familiar, like something he's seen in a dream. “I don't see what the big deal is. Dad's been going to these sorts of things all the time. So why won't he let me fight?”

Suddenly, he hears a noise in the distance. Two, in fact. He turns around, wary. A short distance away is a brown dog, accompanied by a purple duck. The dog barks and the duck quacks, confirming themselves as the source of the sound. The dog approaches him and lies on its back.

Petting the animal's belly, he cannot help but smile. “Hey, boy. What's your name?” He reads the engraving on the collar's tag: IF FOUND, RETURN TO HUNTER. “Hmm. I guess I'll call you Hunter. 'Til we find your owner, anyway.” He glances at the duck. “And I'll call you Ducky.” The duck quacks in disapproval, but he pays no mind.

Another noise, loud and rumbling goes off. Hunter rolls over and perks up, with the duck following suit. He turns to watch what's provoking the animals. Up in the sky, a small speck turns into the shape of a spaceship as it grows closer. The spaceship shakes and trembles in the air for a while before it crash-lands at the foot of the Tower. Curious, they gather near the edge of the building, watching as the smoke clears.

 


	3. All That Glitters

Sonic proceeds to the dark room—often referred to as the “backstage”—and steps into one of the many teleporters lined up. In the capsule next to him is Bowser, standing more upright than usual. The blue hedgehog chuckles, “What's up, big guy? Looking good. Didja lose weight?” The turtle-dragon snorts. “So, uh, how's life? Any family reunions, or...?”

“Not much. Junior's going through a rebel phase, though.” He crosses his arms and mutters, “Sort of like you.”

Sonic retorts, slightly offended, “Well, he's got good taste in role models, then.” Getting back to the subject at hand, he asks, “Say, you don't happen to have other kids, do you?”

Bowser shoots a side-glance. “I took in a few orphans back in the day. What about it?”

He scratches his head and laughs. “Nothin'. Just baseless rumors. And I might've bumped into them earlier.”

The Koopa King stays silent. Then: “Do me a favor, Hedgehog. Don't tell anyone 'bout what I said. 'Specially not Mario. If anyone asks, I only got one kid. Oh, and, uh, keep an eye on those guys. They're good kids, despite their behavior.”

The hedgehog raises a brow, quizzical, but gives a thumbs-up anyway. “You got it, tough guy!” Nothing more is said between the two as they are transported to their destination, but Sonic swears he caught the turtle king cracking a smile.

In the auditorium, towards the back, Olimar watches the commencing battle in silence. He laments forgetting to bring his journal, but he tries to compensate by focusing closely on the fight, taking mental notes of each subtle movement.  _ Hmm. Bowser's a bit faster than usual. Did he lose weight? And Sonic seems to have improved in strength. They've both gotten much better than when I last saw them. _ He doesn't even notice the smile forming on his face.

As the stocks shrink down, the fighters on-screen begin to amp their game. Sonic stops using evasive maneuvers and is going straight for the kill. But Bowser, who has been outright aggressive for most of the battle, has turned the tables with a more defensive approach. Olimar can't decide who to root for at this point.

Eventually, Bowser deals a last-second killer blow, bringing home the gold. Literally. A post-match conversation with the small Captain has revealed a small cash prize for his efforts. “I don't care much for the gold,” says the turtle-dragon as he hands Olimar a handful of coins. “I'm just here to win.” Olimar, confounded, watches Bowser walk off.

The money he received isn't all that much, but he considers it a good start. The coins, engraved with the trademark cross-and-circle, are a currency unique to this particular universe; based on his recent experience with the newly-discovered Trophy Shop, they're also the only currency (besides “Play Coins”, whatever those are) that is accepted. As he also finds out, the coins have far more uses than buying overpriced trinkets.

While wandering about, Olimar spots Pit, the flightless angel, dragging a large cauldron full of coins. “You need help with that?” A stupid question for him to ask, considering his own lack of strength, but it burst out of his mouth like an undying habit. With some thinking and a few extra hands (courtesy of some wandering Pikmin Olimar found along the way), the two of them manage to carry the money to the bank.

“Thanks, Captain,” Pit says with a sigh of relief. “If you didn't help, I'd be hauling this thing all day.”

“Where did you get all this?” Even Bowser couldn't have won this much in such short time, or from a single match alone.

“Well, I just tossed some money into this pot, placed my bets, and fought my way to victory. It's that easy!”

“Really, now? I was beginning to think otherwise.”

“Wha—? Wait, what's that supposed to mean?”

Before he can get a reply, the bank window opens up, and right behind it is the teller—a blonde Hocotatian dressed in classy black. The teller helps Pit through the process, weighing in the cauldron and finalizing the transaction. “And your total is 5,278G. Would you like to deposit everything or—” The teller meets eyes with Olimar, who immediately turns away. “Oh, hey, Ollie! Didn't see you standing there. If you can wait a sec, I can help you out—”

“No. Why are you here, anyway?” A better question would be “How _did you get here?”_

Unfazed, the teller finishes up the angel's transaction and turns his attention back to the Captain. “Everyone on Hocotate and Koppai have heard about you two. You're on the front pages! As President of Hocotate Freight, I simply couldn't pass up the opportunity.”

_ Opportunity? _ Olimar shakes his head. “Hold on a sec. What are you talking about? How in the eight heavens does everyone know about this?”

“Never mind the details. What matters is you _have_ to win now. The reputation of our company depends on it!”

“You mean _your_ reputation,” Olimar replies with a scoff.

“Which affects your reputation as well. You are our top pilot, after all. Can't let the worlds see your incompetence.” The Captain, his throat frozen with nerves, cannot come up with a good remark. “I should go, anyway. I have a meeting with the Hands soon. Nook can handle your money—maybe.” With a tip of his top hat, he says his farewell and exits stage left.

The conversation with the other Hocotatian still enrages him even hours later. Luckily for him, he's part of a fighting tournament, so he has plenty of punching bags to vent his anger out on. Several victories and an equal number of losses later, he returns to the bank with a sizable amount of gold. Combined with Alph's winnings (stored away in their joint account), the hoard becomes quite impressive.

“Wow, Olimar, look at this,” Alph exclaims while witnessing the weighing of their spoils. “Did you really earn all this yourself?”

Suddenly reminded of Bowser's random generosity, he answers, “I had a little bit of help. But most of it's mine. Well, ours, I guess.”

“We could buy, like, ten trophies with this!”

_ Only ten? With this much? _ “Don't go spending too much on those things. We'll need some to participate in the other events.”

“You don't have to worry too much about that.” The Koppaite whips out a green ticket. “Ta-dah! One free round with Crazy Hand!”

“Alph, Crazy Orders aren't that hard to get. Look.” He takes out two green tickets and shows them to him. “But just in case, let's combine all these. The less we have to spend on them, the better.”

“Oh, speaking of which, look at this trophy I got!” He digs out a figurine on a gilded platform—which looks an awful lot like a certain somebody. “It's Louie, see? I can put him on our nightstand, and—”

“Get that out of my face.”

Alph sets the trophy down. “Ollie? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing. Just don't talk about that guy again, okay?”

“You mean President Louie?”

“Yes, that guy!”

Alph, disappointed, puts the trophy away. “Sorry if I struck a nerve. You wanna talk about it?”

Olimar pauses with a sigh and says, “Hey, why don't we grab a bite to eat? Surely, you must be starving from working so much.” It doesn't take long for a large grin to form on the Koppaite's face.

It's dinnertime at the Smash Tower, and everyone is gathered in the cafeteria, eating to their delight. While inter-universe gatherings are not uncommon, most of the time, the Smashers prefer to stick with their own circle of allies. Case in point, Mario and his pals stand out in the center, while Olimar and Alph settle down in a far-off corner of the room. However, it seems even when they're doing their best not to stand out, they still manage to attract attention.

“Hey, guys! Mind if I join?” Mac sets his tray across from the two. Sporting a pink tracksuit and not his trademark boxing gloves, he looks surprisingly different. “Great job out there today, by the way. Definitely better than me. I still can't get used to those weird stages.”

Olimar smirks. “I can attest to that.”

“I must've lost, like, a bazillion Pikmin on Brinstar,” Alph adds.

The conversation continues, with them discussing their favorite and most loathed places to fight on. Eventually, Mac brings up a certain place, “And Garden of Hope is just, like, wow! I'm not sure how I feel about it.”

_ Garden of Hope. So that's what they call it. _ “I can't say I like it much myself.”  _ Too many bad memories _ , he wants to add.

“I know, right? It's full of weird obstacles that break and fall, and have I mentioned the giant crab?” He hasn't played on the stage itself, but hearing that makes him hope he never has to.

“It's really too bad,” a familiar voice pops in. “I rather like it myself. At least, from a visual point of view.”

Olimar does not need to turn around to figure out who it belongs to. Swallowing his pride, he says flatly, “Mac, this is Louie, President of Hocotate Freight.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. President,” Li'l Mac chirps while offering a hand, which Louie accepts, albeit after some confusion. “So you an' Olimar work together?”

“Yes, we were once comrades,” Louie answers, wrapping one arm around Olimar's shoulder. “But years pass, and now I'm his superior. Of course, that doesn't change our _personal_ relationship, right, Mar?”

“You don't have to word it like that,” Olimar mutters.

Alph gasps. “You're going out with Louie?”

“It's nothing like that!”

“Not yet, anyway,” Louie butts in. “But that's not the point. This is.” He hands over an envelope sealed with the Hocotate Freight insignia. “Just a little something for luck. Courtesy of Master Hand and myself. Ta!”

The Captain stares at the envelope, puzzled. Should he open this right now? He pockets it. “I'll check it out later. For now, let's eat!”

While the alien captains and Mac enjoy their meal, two fighters have just finished theirs. Bowser and Dedede are engaged in conversation, which continues as they exit the lunch room. “An' then Meta Knight says, 'What did I do to deserve this?' Huh?” Dedede spots a group of humanoids, largely generic in appearance and all wearing black. They trek down the hall, like robots on patrol. “It's those creeps again. I swear, if I catch 'em stealin' my stuff...”

One of the humanoids stops before Bowser and shows him a photo. Pictured is a blue, glass-like Mario with glowing eyes. “Have you seen this individual,” they ask in a robotic drone.

Bowser snatches the photo with one hand. “That's none of your business!” They blink, watching him storm away, and continue on.

“Ain't that Mario,” Dedede asks, glancing at the picture. “He looks weird.”

“That's cuz he ain't Mario,” he says, crumpling it up. “Hey, Dee? I need you to do me a favor.”

“And in return...?”

“We'll discuss that later. For now, I need you to find somebody. Eight of 'em, to be exact.”

A sly grin on his face, Dedede replies, “Anything you say,  _ boss _ .” He wraps an arm around Bowser and lowers his voice seductively. “But first, my payment.”

Little do those two know, a few of those somebodies are a lot closer than they think. Once the coast is clear, a small Koopa with a cyan mohawk pokes his head out of a nearby closet, then tiptoes out, followed by his two cohorts, one with green hair, the other rainbow. Scouting the hallways, they sneak about; when necessary, they sabotage any signs of security, whether they be cameras or an unwanted witness. Stealth not being their forte, they leave quite a mess behind them.

“Calling Conductor of Chaos. Come in, Conductor,” the cyan-haired Koopa whispers through the walkie talkie in his hand. “This is Special Squad Leader speaking. We've successfully evaded security. The target is not on the first floor.”

“He's not on the second floor, either,” 'Conductor's' voice cracks through the device. “Bespectacled Brute's proceeded to the third floor by himself, so it's just the six of us now. We'll rendezvous on the fourth in thirty. And whatever you do—”

“Don't get caught. Got the picture, Conductor.” The green-haired one jabs his finger in the direction of an adjacent hallway, from the walls of which a small cluster of shadows march in rhythm. “Uh-oh. Those Mii guys are back. See you there.” 'Leader' puts away the walkie talkie and whips out a giant paintbrush, dripping with orange goo. “Wild Child, Wacky War Machine, it's time for 'Operation Triplicate'.”

Pulling up their bandanas, their entire bodies change, bearing resemblance to a certain mustachioed plumber. As the shadows march closer, the trio split up, with one of them goading the Miis into pursuit. Leader runs ahead, losing track of the others. Once he gains a lead, he slaps some goo on a nearby vent gate, destroying it with corrosive properties, and crawls inside.

**-Round Three Post-Script-**

Meanwhile, the eighth and last of those somebodies has been up to his own brand of mischief. He and his new friends, Hunter and Ducky, have witnessed the mysterious spaceship's descent and, upon the pilot's absence, infiltrated it. The young Koopa coughs as the door opens, releasing a dry and heavy air. Hunter lets out a worried whine, not taking one step inside. “It's okay, boy,” the Koopa says while petting the dog's head. “I'll be in and out real quick. Keep an eye out for me, okay?” Hunter whines again, but wags his tail in reassurance.

Gadgets and gizmos line against the metallic walls of the ship, beeping and spinning and flashing and glowing. Being surrounded by so much foreign technology mesmerizes the Koopa child. His train of thought starts to accelerate, trying to process the meaning behind everything. Geiger counter, cockpit, navigation system. Is that a piggy bank in the corner over there?

Upon closer examination, none of it's really all that fancy. But that's probably for the best, as it allows him to notice something more important: the slew of machine parts towards the back, all in dire need of repair.  _ I doubt that bald guy needs any of this _ , the Koopa child concludes as he grabs an armful of junk and escapes before he can be spotted. But little does he know, he's already being watched.

 


	4. For Fun or For Glory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Sorry for taking longer than usual. I plan on changing to an “update whenever I feel like it” sort of schedule to reduce the stress of juggling multiple projects/blogs at once, but I might as well upload one more chapter in the meantime, while I’m working on figuring out what to do with my life.

 

 

 

  


Several days pass without incident. A few messes here and a damaged wall there, but nothing unusual for those residing at the Smash Tower. However, many days of non-stop brawling is taking a toll on poor old Olimar, and his younger partner is beginning to notice, despite his consistent denial. Alph takes his concerns to the highest level he could think of, and they give an unexpected solution.

“We have received some concerns regarding the well-being of our fellow Smashers,” Master Hand's voice booms over the speakers. “As safety is our number one priority, we shall directly address them right now. Everyone come to the landing dock in one hour; the rest will be explained later.”

That “explanation”, if one can call it that, consists of a Mii pilot ordering everyone into a giant plane and sending them to a resort on Wuhu Island. The resort provides a wide variety of activities, from hot springs to racetracks. Name it, and it's available somewhere. The Smashers, themselves in need of a break, take complete advantage of this opportunity.

Olimar heads straight for the library, hoping a little light reading would refresh his mental capacities. But his thoughts continuously race in a loop, and he finds himself unable to focus. He skims the environment, looking for some way to relax.

Sitting in some bean bag chairs in a corner is a pair of twins in robes. Their attention is taken by the book they're sharing, and they whisper in sync with each other. Creepy.

In a table not too far from the little alien is an effeminate man, his blue hair in a bob. Olimar only talked to him a couple of times, and even then, he spoke with a heavy accent, making him hard to understand. It's a wonder anyone can have a conversation with him. (Then again, others have noted his own accent, likely influenced by the staccato nature of his native language. He's been trying to hide it since.) But that's none of his business; he looks busy, anyway.

After a few more attempts, he gives up on the book and goes out for a walk. Peaceful and bountiful, the island feels like a utopia. Yet, aside from himself and the other fighters and the occasional Mii servant, the place is completely deserted. Whether this counts as a good thing or not, he is unsure.

Jogging past is the porcelain-skinned woman, followed by a man of similar appearance and Little Mac. Then Sonic zips by from the other side, knocking the wind out of everyone nearby. As he explores the resort, he bumps into more Smashers, including the Mario Brothers, who have plans to go karting with Bowser. He finally comes to the conclusion that the only one not having fun is him.

“But what's  _not_  to enjoy here,” Alph asks with a surprised gasp. “This place has got everything!”

“I've tried everything. Reading, horseback riding, jogging, even go karting. But I can't help but feel like there's something missing.”

“Well, the racing was fun, right?”

Scratching his head, Olimar replies, “I suppose a little. Until that spiny blue shell came into the picture.”

Alph has a bemused look on his face, when a sudden idea strikes. “Oh, I almost forgot! Dedede's invited me to go with him to the hot springs. You wanna come?”

It doesn't take much to convince him. Not that he has much choice. Whatever nerves he had are washed away in the steaming hot water. The only downside is his own modesty in contrast to Alph's lack thereof. (Apparently, Koppaites have no sense of prudence.) But judging by the blue-haired presence peeking in from behind the sliding door, he's not the only one.

“What're you waitin' for,  _Martha_? Come on down!” Dedede slaps his hand against the rock ledge beside him.

“My name is  _Marth_ , you oversized flightless bird,” 'Martha' snaps. “And why are you the only one in clothes?” He jabs a finger at Dedede, who is still wearing his underlying robe and belt.

“I got a skin condition. Now, quit yer whining an' jump in!”

“It's fun,” Alph adds with glee.

Suddenly cornered, Marth stutters, “On second thought, I—”

“If it's about yer li'l weight problem, ya don't have t' worry one bit,” Dedede sneers with a slap of his fat belly.

With hesitance, Marth steps out and approaches the spring. His 'weight problem' is hardly worse than average, but it would explain the sudden habit of wearing looser clothing. Plus, his chubby cheeks, combined with his pitiful expression, makes him look even cuter. “P-please don't laugh.”

The blue penguin holds back a snicker. “Yer makin' a big deal over this?” He pokes at Marth's tummy, causing him to wince. “No wonder you've been holdin' back!”

 

“Me, hold back?” The bluenette scoffs. “If anyone is holding back, it's Olimar.”

Olimar's pointed ears twitch. “True, this old man isn't as sturdy as he was in his prime. But then again, the same can be said of you, eh, old man?”

A scowl forms on Marth's face as he grabs hold of his wrist. “What do you know? I still can slice your minions before they can touch me.”

“Maybe, but I could tell. Your reflexes are slower, and your range is...” He glances at the Koppaite. “Alph, take Dedede and distract him. This is between Marth and me.”

The penguin's beak cracks a toothy grin. “Fine by me. I needed some fresh air, anyway.”

After they leave, Olimar resumes his conversation. “How's your wrist doing, by the way?”

Marth bows his head in shame as he bends his wrist slightly. “It's been better. Can't say the same about your hands.”

Olimar glances at his knuckles, splotched various colors and achingly stiff. “That's what I get for trying to break Bowser's shell,” he says with a chuckle. “Look at us old men, trying to prove ourselves in some stupid tournament.”

“It's not stupid!” The sudden outburst throws the Captain off. “You may think we do this for fun or for glory, but some of us are here for a reason.”

“Says you, 'hero-king',” Olimar retorts, a harsh tone in his voice. “You have everything you could possibly ever want—”

“Except a kingdom.” The smaller man looks at the taller one's eyes, sad and lonely, and bites his tongue. “Shortly after my first time at the tournament, I returned to my land, and we prospered. I thought I could repeat my success, so I accepted Master Hand's second offer. But when I came back, Archanea had fallen. During my absence, a rival kingdom had declared war and ravaged my own. My wife, my people... all gone.”

After a long moment of silence, Olimar finally mutters, “I'm sorry. I didn't know...”

“Don't bother with words,” Marth interrupts, wiping a tear from his eye. “Next time we meet in battle, prove yourself with action.” He holds out a hand. “For fun or for glory. Why do you fight?”

“For fun or for glory.” The words resonate in his head. Staring down at his own bruised hands, his mind starts to wonder. Briskly, he grabs hold of the taller man's hand and shakes it. “Very well, then. I accept your challenge!”

Back at the hotel, Alph waits outside Dedede's room while he changes into some dry clothes. “If you were gonna change anyway, why bother wearing them in the first place?” He mutters bitterly while tapping his foot. His tone makes a one-eighty the moment the door opens. “'Bout time you finished! We're gonna be late at this—” He inspects the penguin top to bottom, noticing a considerable change in wardrobe. “Wow, Dee, you really dress for the occasion. You are a king!”

“Ya mean I wasn't before,” He asks, raising a brow. “Well, it ain't everyday I wear this sorta stuff. Might as well go all out.”

They head downstairs to the ballroom, where everyone, friend or foe, can settle their differences and party to their heart's content. Unlike the cafeteria or lounge, there's a lot more inter-universe mingling, due to a combination of too much drink and grand-scale ballroom dancing choreography. In contrast, Olimar seems to become more somber and anti-social with each sip.

“Ollie, you've been drinking an awful lot tonight,” Alph says nervously. His escort, the king, has long since left him to go chat with Bowser and the other heavyweights.

Staring down at his glass, he replies with befuddlement, “I have? Strange.” He is not known for having much tolerance with alcohol (that's more along Louie's specialties), making this sudden habit even more surprising. “I really must not have anything better to do.”

“If you don't wanna stay, I can bring you ba—”

“No, don't. I'll be okay.” He finishes off the last of his drink and hands it to Alph. “Just give me a moment. And perhaps some water.”

Alph, more concerned with Olimar's well-being, hesitates before complying. Even as he steps out of sight and towards the refreshments table, he glances back from time to time, hoping the veteran Captain doesn't do anything reckless or worse in his absence. While swapping out the empty glass for a plastic cup of water, Alph's arm collides with another, spilling both drinks. “Sorry! I'll go clean that—”

“Nonono, it's okay,” the other person interrupts. The other person, a blond woman dressed in a sparkling blue dress, whips out a handkerchief and wipes the spilled water from the floor. “I should have been more considerate.” She blinks, her single exposed eye widening, as if face-to-face with a long-lost friend. “You look familiar. Are you Captain... Falcon?”

“What? Me? No, I think you're confused. I'm Alph—not really a captain. I dunno where everyone gets that impression.” He shakes the thought off. “Anyway, you're probably thinking of Olimar. He's the real captain.” He follows up with, “Er, no offense, Mr. Falcon.”

“None taken,” says a buff, helmeted man in blue as he shuffles onto the dance floor.

The lady chuckles, her voice delicate like the baby blue she wears. “Well, it's lovely to meet you, Alph. I hope you don't mind my asking, but I would like to meet your friend.”

“Er, I dunno. He hasn't been in the best mood lately.”

“No worries. I simply wish to introduce myself.” She smiles gently, which is enough to sway him.

He escorts her to where he last left Olimar, sulking in a far-off corner of the ballroom. The Hocotatian's ears twitch, picking up on Alph's presence. Alph hands him the water and distances himself, leaving him alone with with a stranger in blue. The stranger curtsies and introduces herself. So formal is she, both in manner and appearnace, that her name becomes an even bigger shock. “R-Rosalina?” He has heard her name in conversation, particularly in discussions over 'tier lists', which many of the Smashers create and use in their silly gambling games. According to the list, she is rumored to be among the top players, a true force of nature. But seeing her in person, he's taken aback, his subconscious unable to connect the top-tier competitor with the matriarch standing before him. “I, erm, I'm Olimar.”

“Yes, your friend told me,” she says, her tone lighthearted. “I came across one of your recent performances. Right away, I could tell you were unique.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Olimar replies, apprehensive. “I'm not really that interesting in person, however.”

“But you're not boring at all! Just the opposite, in fact.”

“I'm sorry, but you seem to have gotten the wrong impression of me.”

“Really? If you're not interesting, then how would you describe yourself?”

Olimar tries to come up with something impressive, but cannot think of a single positive thing to say about himself. Even if he were to ignore the tier lists—which have dismissed him as “bottom of the barrel”—he cannot deny that he is far from saintly. “Well, I'm smart? And I guess that's about it.”

“You're certainly modest,” Rosalina says with a smile. “And passionate, and observant, and daring, too.”

“Wha-How did you get all that from a single fight?” Besides, those words could describe just about any fighter.

Olimar has to double-take. Of all the words to use, “compassionate” is the one least likely to describe him. From his personal experiences (and the many jokes that follow), pretty much anything he touches dies or gets hurt somehow. He never liked those jokes, but he's since resigned himself to his fate. This sudden compliment—if he can assume it as such—leaves him speechless.

After a moment of non-reaction, she continues. “Well, that's about all I wanted to say. I look forward to meeting again on the battlefield.” She waves goodbye and floats off, leaving him astounded.

“Looks like you guys get along well.” Olimar's ears pick up on Alph's voice and when he turns his head, the Koppaite flashes a grin. “I think you'd make a cute couple. Look, even your face is getting red!”

Olimar can feel himself burning up inside, and not just because he's right. “I'm going to bed,” he mutters as he staggers towards the exit. “I think I've had too much. Don't follow me.”

Despite his grumbling, he collapses the moment he goes out the door, prompting Alph to carry him upstairs anyway.

**-Round Four Post-Script-**

Back at the Smash Tower, security is at an all-time high. Armies of Mii-bots march the halls, while smaller groups swarm to clean up the messes made by the mysterious perpetrators. After receiving the news, Louie is ordered to stay behind and supervise. “What a pain,” he mumbles to himself as he watches a troop of Miis march off.

He recalls being summoned to the Hands's domain, and watching the video footage. The security cameras from within the Tower and installed in his ship caught footage of not one, but eight culprits causing trouble. Many Mii-bots were destroyed, the halls scarred from the corrosive substances they used, and his personal hoard of valuables have gone missing. Luckily for him, the hooligans responsible were not a stealthy bunch, so most of their faces were caught on camera. He had to squint just to confirm, but he could have sworn they looked like giant turtles with hair.

But that isn't urgent. What is urgent, however, is the pink-haired woman approaching him. “Louie, I've received the results from the chemistry lab. The paint substance is made up of several foreign components, which appear to originate from some place they call the Mushroom Kingdom.”

“And the investigative team?”

“Based on the chem report, they've sorted through the data for all the most notable residents of the Mushroom Kingdom, and narrowed it down to these results.” She hands him a sheet, which contains the names and faces of all the culprits. Despite their colorful, diverse features, they all shared one thing in common: “Koopa”.

He hands the list back. “Thanks, Brittany. Call up the security bots; have them search top to bottom. Tear up the vents if you have to.”

“You're asking them to destroy property just to find some vandals?”

“Trust me, these are more than mere vandals. They're connected by one thing: Bowser.”

Any traces of doubt are instantly erased from her face, replaced by surprise. “You mean that giant shelled dragon?  _That_  Bowser?” Up until her transfer into Hocotate Freight's science department, she was stationed on Koppai, where she watched the Smash Tournament from the local channels. Speculation is still premature, but many are claiming the King of Koopas to be among the top contenders.

“Yes, that Bowser. It's possible he snuck them in somehow. Either way, I'll have to report this to the Hands.”  _Man, what a pain._  “In the meantime, you're in charge.”

One of the Mii-bots approaches Louie. “Ground floor's all clear, sir,” the Mii drones while saluting.

“Great. Now, pay attention, all of you. From now until further notice, Brittany's the boss. Follow her orders to the letter. Got it?”

“Yes, sir!” The lead Mii, then the others, salute in reply.

Brittany, initially caught unaware by Louie's change in command, straightens up and raises her voice, now stern and cold. “First order: Search every last inch of the building—rooms, vents, the works. Leave no stone unturned. No matter what must be done, find Bowser Jr. and the rest will follow.”

The Mii army complies and follows through, becoming more aggressive in their search—though thankfully, they're not as destructive as she had come to expect—and she is left alone to her thoughts. She reads through the list again. Ludwig, Lemmy, Iggy, Roy, Wendy, Morton, Larry. And at the very bottom, a young Koopa, similar to Bowser in name and appearance. There's no guarantee her plan will work, but if they are related to the King himself, they could pose a far larger threat than mere vandalism.


	5. On the Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! Sorry about the delay. I started a new side project, which got unexpectedly popular in a short time, and it's been eating up my time recently. Hopefully, once I figure out how to bounce between multiple projects, I can start updating this on a more timely basis again, or with fewer delays. Also, as a result of this issue, this chapter, as well as any possible future chapters, will be free of images. Thank you for reading!

 

The morning the Smashers are scheduled to return, they instead receive a message that the Tower will be off-limits due to renovations and that they will have to stay at the resort until further notice. Needless to say, many of them are pleased by the news. Among the unpleasable is Bowser.

“I know that face,” Dedede says. “You've got somethin' on yer mind, dontcha?”

In Bowser's clawed hands is a small locket, inside of which contains a photo of him and his son. Open and close, he goes through the routine. “I wonder what Junior's up to.”

“This is about those somebodies, right?”

“I haven't found 'em myself, but I've been hearing things. Some other fighters have been spotting weird blue Marios all over.”

“One of the Robins said they found something blue, but they wouldn't tell me anymore.” He sighs in exasperation. “Those are some smart kids you got there.”

“All but two, really,” Bowser corrects him, half-joking. “But the real question is, why are all of 'em here? I ripped up their acceptance letters before they could find 'em.” All except one, apparently.

“Perhaps the same reason we are?” The penguin smirks.

“I hope not. The last thing we need is more potential hosts for Master Core.” He snaps the locket shut and stashes it. “Which brings up a new question: who's the current host?”

Dedede tries to recount the participants in his head. “Hey, Koopa. That one letter, it said there's supposed t' be forty-eight, right? But we don't got that many with us.”

“Meaning the current host must be one of the ones missing.”

“Or possibly all of 'em,” Dedede adds. “Remember what happened back then.”

Bowser nods. “Right.” Mulling through the numbers, that makes at least ten possible suspects. Maybe. He was never great with numbers. “Whoever they are, I hope they're doin' well.”

Among those suspected is Hunter, a simple dog, and its equally simple duck friend, Ducky. Those aren't their real names, of course, but it's what their current master calls them, so they run with it. After all, what could go wrong with a master that gives great belly rubs? As it turns out, plenty. The robot guards have been tearing the Tower apart from the bottom up, all in search of him. And based on the recon gathered from the microscopic camera attached to Ducky, he's not the only one they're after, either.

But Master doesn't seem worried at all. He's been keeping himself busy, locked away in a room hidden from the prying eyes of the guards. The room can only be found by pushing a specific pile of junk in the cellar, revealing a strange, colorful 'M'-shaped portal on the floor. They would jump into the portal, leading them into a workshop armed to the teeth with an assortment of tools and machinery. The simple fact that Master not only wields a tool capable of bending time and space to his will, but also able to design and create his own tools, and at such a young age is nothing short of fantastic. The people in charge of this joint chose their warriors wisely.

On the other hand, Master's buddies might be in a bit of a bind, at least, if those images on Master's television screens are accurate. Along with Ducky's camera, he had managed to hack into the main security system of the building, allowing an extra set of eyes.

However, Master's not watching the cameras; his attention is focused on the current project at hand, an odd-looking cart with a clown face. After performing some finishing touches, he hops into the cart and activates it. The Junior Clown Car, as he calls it, instantly comes to life, panting and grinning like a dog reunited with its owner. Hunter has mixed feelings towards its unusually lifelike behavior. But if Master is happy, so be it.

Ducky, the only one watching the cameras at that moment, quacks and points its bill at one of the screens. One of Master's friends is on the loose yet again, but with the increased security, may be out of luck. Luckily for them, that friend of his is skilled in acrobatics, and thus able to outrun the guards. At least, until the Commander arrives.

The Commander is Master's codename for the one in charge of the guards. The first one was a tiny alien man, the same one who owned the ship Master raided, but he soon was swapped out for another alien, this one female. The original Commander didn't seem to care much for his job, but the current one is devoted to her position and aggressive in her methods. In her stead is an army of even smaller plant creatures. Using the plant creatures as an obstacle, Master's friend is quickly outnumbered and apprehended. One down, seven left.

Master's brow furrows, and he proceeds to his next project with swiftness. His intention was to complete his current project before reuniting with his friends, but such crises call for sudden changes in plans. He scribbles down something in two sheets of paper, then folds it up and ties them to Hunter's and Ducky's collars. Right away, they know what they must do.

Hunter and Ducky enter the Tower from the cellar. They scout the area and go down a route least populated by prying eyes. Combining the dog's keen sense of smell with the duck's sharp vision, they are able to avoid the guards and exploit the cameras' blind spots. Continuing onward, Hunter's nose catches whiff of a familiar scent: artificial and toxic, like a mix of oil and paint. The smell grows stronger with every step, eventually leading to a stairway dripping with corrosive yellow paint. Attempting to move onward could prove lethal, but not doing so could hinder the mission. With a sad whimper, Hunter sends Ducky ahead and runs elsewhere.

One upside to splitting up like this is that Hunter can move around more freely without a duck on its back. This makes avoiding cameras and slipping into tight spots much easier. The dog crawls through an open vent and shuffles through them as stealthily as possible. That's what Master would do, after all. And maybe he'll hide in a box, if he can find one. Yeah, that's just what Master would do.

Meanwhile, on the second floor, Ducky flies about, avoiding the cameras. There doesn't appear to be much activity here, but that might have to do with the excessive amounts of paint. Finding a nearby door, it lands on the handle, adding pressure and unlocking it. As soon as it swings wide open, the duck takes off once again, landing on top of one of the many towering bookshelves. Master calls this place a “library”, and would occasionally sneak into it from one of the vents to obtain information. Master is smart like that.

Usually, the library would be quiet and almost devoid of people (save for those snow-haired twins and occasionally that one with the giant sword). But as of late, there would always be a pair of Mii-bots marching about: one patrols the north end and the other the south. Considering the Commander's thoroughness, Ducky finds this oversight rather surprising. It's possible that Master's friend is hiding somewhere close. The question is _where?_

Somewhere in the vents, Special Squad Leader is crawling about, attempting to retain his composure. With Wild Child captive, Wacky War Machine out of reach, and no contact from the others—not even Conductor—he's beginning to lose hope. _Junior, wherever you are, when I find you, I'm gonna kick your ass!_

Hunter is still in the vents, but an odd scent catches him off-guard. It smells familiar, yet different, like blueberries. Or is it raspberries? Who cares, it's Master's friend! Hunter crawls, tumbles, and climbs through the complex ventilation system installed in the Tower, following that fragrant trail.

After crawling aimlessly for seemingly forever, Special Squad Leader comes across a dim light shining through in slits. He approaches and looks down. The room is dark, and full of chatter—most likely about the catastrophe at hand—but one voice stands out from the rest: Louie. At least, he's pretty sure that's what the name is. What's-his-name comes across just as composed as he's always been. Almost too composed; his cockiness could rival Conductor's. Luckily, Leader has come prepared. He whips out a small tape recorder and presses the red button.

 

**-Round Five Post-Script-**

Back on Wuhu Island, Alph is flipping through the channels on the TV. “Man, there's nothing on!” Just as his finger is about to press the button again, his mouth slips out an “oh”. “I didn't realize Kirby had his own show.” He chuckles at the penguin king's on-screen appearance. “Dedede sounds really funny, when you think about it. But watching him from the theater, he sounds nothing like his usual self.”

Olimar, preoccupied with an issue of _Smash Dojo_ , replies, “I wonder if it's something they changed for ratings.”

“Ratings?”

“I found out about it recently. Apparently, our fights have been airing all over the place. Or written.” He flips straight to a specific page and displays it. “Take Meta Knight for example. He used to be the best, to the point where some have accused him of cheating and made watching the fights dull. But now...” He closes the magazine. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

“You think he got worse on purpose?”

“It's possible. Or maybe he's just gotten rusty since the last tournament.” A lot of things happened that last time, many of which are a blur to him now. “But it doesn't matter, anyway. With all these newcomers, the tier lists are constantly changing.” So many changes, he sometimes wishes everything would turn back to the way he remembers them being.

The second Dedede's animated counterpart exits stage left, Alph turns off the television. “I'm heading to the gym with Mac. Wanna come with?”

“Maybe later. Have fun!” He cannot help but smile—it's been a while since he said those two words. Alph goes out to play, leaving Olimar on his own. The previous night has left him feeling more relaxed than usual; perhaps the effects of the alcohol are still lingering. His mind is filling up with a slew of random ideas and topics, but one in particular stands out. “I wonder what Rosalina's up to.”

Not knowing much about her, he heads out to search. He starts by exploring the halls of the building itself. Rosalina seems like a smart woman, if perhaps a bit spacey. A poor assumption to make, but at least it's something to follow on. The Robins practically live in the library, so it might be best to start from there.

As he starts making way there, he passes by the balcony, where Dedede and Bowser are hanging out. They appear to be deep in conversation, though Olimar isn't sure what. Something about “hosts” and “suspects”. There's not enough context to figure out what's going on, and he doesn't feel too comfortable eavesdropping. What he hears next tempts him to stay.

“Stupid Master Core. I'm sick of his games. When I get ahold of 'im, I'm gonna destroy him once and for all. I'll bring an end to this game, even if it kills me.”

 


	6. The Future Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a long hiatus, DI is finally back! At least, for now. I was battling writer's block the last time I touched this document, but thanks to the support of the readers, I decided to go back and rewrite my mangled attempt at a new chapter. Now before you is a new chapter laden with new characters, new twists, and new revelations. I hope you enjoy this chapter like you did the rest of the story thus far!

After much aimless wandering and some assistance from a handful of helpful comrades, he finds himself in the midst of a stone path colored with flowers of every color, shape, and size. As he travels down the path, he cannot help but stop to observe the more exotic species of flora, as well as the birds and insects that flock to them.

One in particular stands out: a round, pink, cat-like creature with large sea-colored eyes. The pink creature playfully cries out, “Jigglypuff!” as it skips and floats about. But as Olimar quickly notices, the creature is not alone, but accompanied by a chubby little star. The star plucks a red flower—a five-petaled specimen that almost could rival it in size—and offers it to the pink cat. The cat, overjoyed, immediately puts it on its ear as decoration, and opens its mouth to sing.

“Oh, Luma, there you are,” a distant voice calls out to the star. Gracefully, the owner of the voice—Rosalina herself—floats over to it as it hops into her arms. Staring down at the pink cat, she says, “I see you've made a new friend.”

Olimar is about to take a step forward and speak up, but she responds for him. “Good day to you, Captain Olimar. Would you like to join us?” Taken off-guard, he nods and follows along.

In the heart of the maze of flowers is a grand-sized gazebo, under the roof of which sits two picnic tables, occupied by Rosalina's friends, Lumas of various colors, plus the “Jigglypuff” and another pink creature, the latter featureless save for a cute, innocent face. Rosalina offers a seat, which Olimar accepts, and they converse as the others play along.

“This place is beautiful, isn't it?”

Unable to react quickly enough, he stammers, “I suppose it is.” Then, with a deep breath of confidence, “No. It really is beautiful.”

“But you're worried about something. I can see it on your face.”

“There's nothing wrong with the resort. I just...” he pauses to collect his thoughts. “I'm getting a bit restless. I came here to fight, not to laze about on some island!”

For a moment, Rosalina is unresponsive. Staring out into the distance, she mouths Olimar's words to herself. Then, her gaze shifting down to his small, bruised hands, she gasped. “Goodness, what happened here?”

He swiped his hand away. “It's nothing, really. Just a minor injury. It'll heal.”

“Not at this rate. Have you even bothered with treatment? Here.” From the mysterious confines of her dress, she uncovered a small container filled with some sort of gel-like substance. She applied the substance to the bruises, soothing the pain and removing some of the color.

“Amazing! It's already working. What is this?”

“Just some mushroom-based ointment, with a touch of magic for quick healing. Mario helps out at a pharmacy, and offered this for emergencies. Even Bowser took one, despite his protests.” She giggled at the thought. “If you'd like, you can have it. You have been working so hard, you need it more than I do.”

Olimar was dumbfounded, but took the ointment anyway. “Thanks. I didn't think anyone noticed. Everyone's had their eyes on you since you arrived. _Smash Dojo_ has an article on you!”

“What? Me? I have not noticed any of it. I just try to end the fights as mercifully as possible. The sooner all this ends, the better.”

“But if you don't want to fight, then why enter in the first place?”

A long pause, then: “The Observatory... the Lumas' home... it's gone.”

For a while, nothing was said. He didn't know what to say. How could he? Compared to Marth and Rosalina, his reason looked petty. “I'm sorry. I...”

“You don't have to say anything,” she interrupted. “You listened, and you're thinking of me. That's all that I wanted.” Her single exposed eye, shimmering like stars in a deep blue sky, stared down at the Hocotatian with sympathy. That alone was all that he needed.

Elsewhere, beneath the same blue sky, Alph and Little Mac have been involved in all sorts of activities. Ring toss, wooden sword fights, and even a ball game or two. Mac has gained the most victories, due to his tall, athletic build, though Alph's small stature and intellect has won him some on occasion. After running through many games, they decide to stop for downtime.

“That was so much fun! There's so much to do, I don't wanna leave!”

Alph's expression turns somber. “Yeah, me neither.”

“But there's still the tournament, right? Cool as this place is, I can't wait to get back. I hear the prize money's, like, a bazillion! With that money, I can start my own gym and carry on Doc's legacy.”

“But I thought Doc was with you the whole time. I've seen you train with him between fights, and he even joins you when you do your victory pose.”

The young boxer looks away, hiding the tears beginning to form. “That's not really him. Master Hand made that weird clone of Doc to keep me company. As if that'll fix anything.”

Seeing the pain in him, Alph gently lays a hand on Mac's glove. “Hey, Doc may not be real, but you're not alone at all. You got us, and Olimar, and everyone else here. For better or for worse, you're with friends.”

Little Mac's expression is still hidden, but the Koppaite can tell he is smiling.

The heartwarming moment, however, is interrupted by the sounds of clashing steel, as a blue-haired swordsman flies by, stumbling on the ground. Little Mac stands and takes a defensive stance, while Alph runs over to help the fallen fighter. “Marth,” Alph calls out, “Are you okay?”

Marth spares no time to answer, as another blue-haired swordsman—like himself, but clad in a mask—shoves Mac aside and prepares to lunge at him. He tries to get up, but feels a stinging pain in his leg. _Damn_ , he swears under his breath. Even with Alph by his side, he's still defenseless at this rate.

 

“ _Back Slash!_ ”

 

A voice echoes, followed by the swift slicing of wind. Standing in Marth's place is a blond young man, wielding a red, energy-powered sword. The opposing swordsman is knocked back by the blond's attack, and as they fall, the mask they wore breaks in half as it makes impact with the ground. As they stand, locks of their once-short hair unfurls, flowing halfway down their back. Their face, intense with the anger of defeat, is soft and feminine, even compared to the androgynous Marth.

The blond boy approaches the swordswoman and holds out a hand. “You can drop the act now, 'Marth',” he says to her, a sly, knowing grin on his face.

Resigned, the so-called “Marth” accepts the gesture and is helped to her feet. “I thought I put up a pretty good act. My plan fell apart when he came along.”

Marth, finally on his feet, confronts the other. “Which begs the question: why the act? Why borrow my name and appearance?”

The female brushes her hair aside, revealing a mark in her eye that struck Marth as familiar—the Mark of Naga. “I came here to save my father's future. I thought by impersonating the Hero-King, I'll be able to blend in with his allies.”

He was taken aback by the revelation, but responded, “So you've heard about my past participation.”

“From an anonymous source, yes. I have also learned to imitate your fighting style. Though I guess I still have much to learn.” Glancing at everyone else's faces, she continues. “I suppose I should introduce myself. I am Lucina, son of the Exalt Chrom, and the descendant of Marth the Hero-King. Pleased to meet you.”

Marth, still internally taking the information in, answers, “It's an honor to meet you, Lucina.”

Turning her attention to the blond boy, her face turns inquisitive. “You, the one who successfully parried my shot. May I ask your name?”

“The name's Shulk,” the blond answers with a modest smile. “If you'd like, I can show you around.” Returning his expression, she agreed, and they walked off, leaving the rest to wonder what just happened.

“I can't believe you got to meet your descendant,” says Alph.

“Neither can I,” Marth mutters.

“Look on the bright side: that means there's still hope for you in the future!” No response. “Well, maybe you two can learn more about each other. Find out how this weird time travel thing works.”

“I suppose.”

“And we can figure out what's up with this tourney,” Little Mac interjects. “I'm not sure why, but I think there's something special about her. Like, there has to be a reason why you're both in Smash.”

Marth blinks in pause. “That's amazingly insightful. Perhaps there is some mysterious force at work. Something none of us have seen yet.”

 

**-Round Six Post-Script-**

He cannot believe what he just heard. The big conspiracy Special Squad Leader had been waiting for has finally come to light—so he thinks. In his hands is a conversation between Conductor—his brother—and the former Commander. What little he can make out involves some sort of universe-wide domination—maybe? Well, maybe he doesn't have all the evidence. But there is something going on, he knows that much.

Sitting alone in a dark corridor, far out of sight of the Mii-bots, he goes over the recording again.

 

“Ludwig von Koopa. That is your name, yes? Mind telling us all what your lot has been up to?”

“That's none of your business!”

“Oh? I think you'll change your mind after this.”

The sounds of his squad members' screams follow for the next minute. Hearing them in pain sends chills down Squad Leader's spine.

“Wait,” Conductor cries out, causing the noise to cease. “I'll explain everything. Just spare my brothers and sister.”

“Excellent.” Cries of protest from his siblings are muffled out.

“We came here to find Junior. We never intended to participate—Father forbade us—but he found a piece of the invitation and signed it… signed it with his blood. When we woke up the next morning, he was gone. We found the other pieces in the trash… and did the same.”

“According to our records, there are seven of you 'Koopalings', correct? Where is the young one?”

“I don't know. Even if I knew, I'll never tell!”

A pause. “Very well. I will spare your siblings. Bring us the Prince, and all will be well.”

“But—”

Another voice, deeper and darker in tone, repeats the command, this time more threatening. “Bring me the Prince, and all will be well.”

His voice shifting to an uncharacteristic drone, Conductor answers, “Yes, Master.”

 

Squad Leader clicks off the tape recorder. There's so much he doesn't know about this place, about the Mastermind, about everything. Can he really overthrow this seemingly omnipotent being and save Junior? The stress is starting to get to him. Come to think of it, when was the last time he had sleep? He can feel himself nodding off.

Suddenly, he is assaulted by soft, slobbery flesh, forcing him awake. Sitting excitedly next to him is a brown dog. After shoving the creature's face aside, he notices something on its collar. A note? He slips it out the collar and—using a small flashlight he had stashed away—begins to read it.

 

_Larry,_

_If you're reading this, I am safe. Trust Hunter and Ducky. They're here to help. Please respond ASAP._

_I believe in you._

_\- BJ_

 

Reading the message caused Squad Leader's confidence to surge. He wants to write back, but sadly lacks a pen. Instead, he whispers to the dog, “Hey, show me where Junior is.” Happily, the dog runs off into the darkness.

As they travel deeper into the hidden infrastructure of the Smash Tower, Larry, his pit filled with dread, constantly looks over his shoulder. Eventually, they reach a pitch-black room filled with crates. The dog leaps behind a mountain of crates, disappearing from sight. Larry climbs over the pile and looks down. A dimly slowing M-shaped mark is painted on the floor, beckoning to his curious nature. With no other options in sight, he jumps down the rabbit hole.


End file.
